


A Well-Made Mistake

by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie)



Series: Don't Want Shelter [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Decisions, Drinking, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, If you've read part 1 you'll know what I'm talking about because it's mentioned more than once, M/M, Takes place in 1995, except not really, they are both 23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOnLarrie/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: It's been three years since the last time they saw each other and it’s probably inevitable that their reunion includes a drunken confrontation. Neither of them expect to get thrown out of Gemma's wedding reception, and they definitely don't anticipate what happens next.If you haven’t read the rest of this series, please start withPart 1.





	A Well-Made Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someonethatsfunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonethatsfunny/gifts).



> Hello! [Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/) posted [this drabble](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/179180092178/57-75) that made me think of Gemma's wedding from _Don't Want Shelter._ This is a short timestamp about that night from Harry's POV.  
>   
> 
> Thanks to Nic for being awesome, as always!
> 
> Title from Fiona Apple's song 'A Mistake'
> 
>  
> 
> This takes place in 1995, so both Louis and Harry are 23 years old.

1995

“Harry, if you don’t shut up about your bow tie, I’m literally going to murder you, and if I get your blood on my dress, I’m going to murder you again.” Gemma appears surprisingly relaxed for the amount of venom in her voice. The smile doesn’t leave her face, but she closes her eyes, takes a slow, deep breath, opens her eyes and asks, “How do I look?”

“Beautiful. Really, really beautiful. Have you…” Harry gently places his hands on her shoulders and spins her around. “There’s a mirror right there, have you not used it?” 

“Shut up,” Gemma says as she moves to stand closer to the mirror. She twists from side to side. “How long do I have?”

“Twenty minutes.” Harry looks over her shoulder at his reflection and straightens his bow tie again. “I’m sorry about—”

“Shit. Distract me.” She turns and smacks his hand away from his neck. “Tell me what’s really bothering you. Is it Louis? Because I know it’s not your tie.”

There’s no way he can talk enough about Louis to fill the twenty minute wait before the walk down the aisle. Fifteen minutes, tops. Probably. 

“I, um…” There’s so much history between him and Louis that Harry’s never talked about with anyone in detail. He wonders if Louis has been just as secretive about things or if there are other people in the world who know that he and Louis watched each other jerk off when they were fifteen. 

“Louis… Well, I… I haven’t seen him in three years.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, Gemma. The last time we saw each other, he threw a raw egg at me!”

She looks at him and blinks, saying, as if Harry doesn’t know, “You probably deserved it.”

Harry bites his top lip and looks away from Gemma and the mirror. “Yeah, I know.”

She raises her eyebrows and says, “He’s single.”

“That’s not… I don’t want to…” Harry crosses his arms and says, “He hates me.”

Gemma rolls her eyes and turns back to the mirror, unnecessarily smoothing her hair. “Ridiculous, Harry. You two have always gotten along, he’s practically family. So what if you had one argument? Like you said, it was three years ago. You’re lucky I didn’t ask him to be a groomsman. Get over yourself and apologize.” 

“I’ll need a drink first.” 

With an exaggerated sigh, Gemma walks towards the door, opens it, and steps out into the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

Wordlessly, Harry follows her down the short hallway until she stops outside the door of the room her future husband, Zach, is in. Before Harry can stop her, she bangs on the door, shouting, “It’s me! Don’t peek!”

A few seconds later, muffled by the door between them, Zach says, “Hey, babe.”

“Open the door a crack and pass it through.”

The handle turns, the door opens slightly, and a hand holding a flask appears. Gemma kisses the hand, takes the flask, and says, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She twists the cap off, tips it into her mouth, careful not to mess up her lipstick, then passes it to Harry.

“Thanks.” Harry sniffs the flask and shrugs, taking a sip, swallowing it, then taking a second drink. He shakes his head and smiles, handing the flask back to Gemma, who slips it through the gap. “Don’t know what I expected, but tequila’s somehow not surprising.”

Gemma smirks and raises her eyebrows, saying, “Now you can pull your head out of your ass and apologize to Louis.” And leaves him in the hallway when she knocks on another door and disappears inside. Lottie and Fizzy poke their heads out into the hallway and wave at him before shutting the door. 

The ceremony is fairly short. After he walks Fizzy down the aisle, he stands to the side, right where he was told to stand, and focuses on the music and then the vows and finally on walking Fizzy back up the aisle, all without ever looking at Louis. 

It’s a little more difficult to avoid him at the reception. 

He sticks with tequila all night, sipping it at first, trying to maintain a slight buzz without getting too drunk, but then his new brother-in-law hands him a shot of cheap tequila, and the next thing Harry knows, he’s doing the absolute worst job of avoiding Louis Tomlinson. At least he can blame the tequila. No matter where Harry goes all night, no matter who he’s talking to, he finds his eyes searching for Louis without his permission, staring at him until Gemma corners him and threatens to drag him over and make him apologize in front of her. 

Halfway across the room, Harry realizes he’s had far too much to drink. Somehow, he doesn’t trip over any of the chairs on his way, so he takes that as a sign of good things to come. 

Louis’ suit is a blue almost as dark as the black of Harry’s tux, and he’s still wearing his tie which Harry finds hot for some reason. He took his bowtie off before he left the church and at this point in the evening, his shirt is more unbuttoned than buttoned, and his tuxedo jacket is… somewhere. 

“Hello, Louis,” Harry says and it feels like it takes him an hour just to get those two words out. His throat feels dry, but his glass is empty. Harry frowns at it. “I need a drink. Want one?”

“I’m good. Thanks.” Louis holds his half-full glass up to Harry’s eye level. 

Harry takes a sip of his freshly poured tequila and it reminds him again that he’s already far past drunk. At least he only has to find his way up to his room on the eighth floor tonight. After he figures out how to apologize to Louis. 

“Um, so…” Harry swirls the tequila in his glass and watches it spin, trying not to cringe at himself. “What have you been up to?” He should’ve led with the apology.

“Oh, you know, just enjoying the poverty level wages.” Louis raises a single eyebrow and sets his glass on the bar. “You know how it is for us teachers.”

That should’ve been expected, but Louis catches Harry off guard, and he struggles find a response for a moment, words failing him until he finally settles on, “Fuck you too, Louis.”

Louis looks at him for a moment, and just when Harry starts to forget what they’re talking about, Louis says, “What about you, Styles? Did you ever stick with a major long enough to finish a degree?”

“Fuck you, for real.” Harry balls his hands into fists and forces out, “I came over here to apologize.”

“Sure you did. Sounds just like an apology.” 

“God, you’re such a dick. I can’t believe—”

“Boys.” Both their heads whip around to face both of their mothers. Anne steps closer and says, “If the two of you can’t behave, you can leave, understand?”

Louis and Harry nod in tandem, then Jay says, “Good. This is Gemma’s day.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry says, looking down at his shoes.

“Sorry, really.” Louis coughs and picks his drink up from the bar.

Jay takes both of their drinks away from them, waves the bartender over and tells him not to serve Louis and Harry anymore. As soon as their moms turn to walk away, Harry looks over at Louis, trying to figure out what to say. Slowly, Louis pulls his hands from his pocket and Harry’s drunk brain takes a moment too long to process that Louis is pretending to wind a crank to raise his middle finger and flip him off. 

“Fuck you, Louis,” Harry spits out, realizing a second too late that his words weren’t quiet. They both turn to watch their mothers heading back in their direction. The next thing Harry knows, he’s standing with Louis in the corridor outside of the reception hall.

“Can’t believe you got us kicked out,” Louis calls back over his shoulder as he walks away from the reception.

Harry follows him, almost tripping over his own feet, but managing to stay upright, as he spits out, “Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck you!”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve said that. I’m starting to think you’d really like it,” Louis says, and Harry slows to a stop, too confused to walk and think at the same time, then, embarrassed at being slow on the uptake, Harry rushes to catch up to Louis before the elevator. He’s determined to say something, but as soon as he grabs Louis’ shoulder, he trips, and Louis spins to face him. They stumble together, Louis’ back hits the closed door behind him, and Harry just barely catches himself with his hands on either side of Louis’ head. 

Louis’ gasp is all that Harry registers. Harry drops one arm and leans back a bit, giving Louis the opportunity to walk away. Instead, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the door. 

Slowly, because he really doesn’t trust his depth perception, Harry leans in, bringing their lips together before he can overthink it. 

Harry loses himself in kissing Louis. It’s the best thing he’s ever done with his mouth and he’s pretty sure he could figure out a way to kiss him twenty-four hours a day. And when they’re kissing, they’re not talking, so they’re not pissing each other off. That’s a plus. Eyes closed and lost in Louis’ mouth, Harry squeaks and almost falls when the door he’s been pressing Louis up against opens. 

“Are we… This is a supply closet.” Harry looks around to be sure, and he’s right. Inhibitions almost nonexistent, he shamelessly offers, “Yeah… Come to my room?” 

Louis hesitates, but not long enough for Harry to second guess himself. He nods and whispers, “Okay.” 

The elevator is blessedly empty, so Harry wastes no time before backing Louis into a corner, and kissing him again until Louis starts pushing against his chest. Harry pouts when he’s forced to separate their lips, but it only takes him a few seconds to realize that the elevator doors are open and Louis is trying to guide him through them. The room number is clearly printed on the envelope holding Harry’s keycard, and once Louis knows where they’re going, he grabs Harry’s hand and drags him down the hall, easily opening the door despite Harry’s every effort to distract him.

It’s not as if a drunken hookup that will presumably feature angry sex is what he’s always dreamed of happening with Louis, but Harry will take anything he can get at this point, too drunk to care and too thrilled that something—anything—is finally happening between them. 

They’re halfway across the room when Louis wrenches his neck away from Harry’s mouth and says, “Naked. Bed. Now. Let’s go.” He claps his hands and Harry jumps a little in surprise, then hurries to the bed. Somehow, his clothes all come off out of order. He’s pulling his tuxedo trousers off before he remembers that his shoes are still on his feet, but he gets them off, and throws himself backwards, shirt still hanging on by one button, silently praising himself for wearing his one nice pair of tight, black briefs. 

Louis climbs over him, slips the last button on Harry’s shirt free, letting it fall open before lowering himself until they’re face to face and chest to chest. “You okay?” 

“Yeah… drunk though.” Harry figures that it’s better if he’s honest. “But I… I’d want this... if I was sober.”

“You’re sure?” Louis asks and bites his lip, eyes roaming over Harry’s face. 

All of the strength and coordination left in Harry goes into flipping them so that he’s hovering over Louis. He dives down for another messy kiss, mashing their noses together and giggling into Louis’ mouth. “I’m sure. Don’t think I’d have the balls to tell you sober.” 

“What do you want?”

“You. However you’ll let me.” Harry closes his eyes, trying to sober himself up by sheer force of will. 

“I’d, um… Can I fuck you?”

Harry nods jerkily and scrambles to the side of the bed, digging through his bag, returning with lube and a condom. He sprawls across the bed on his back. The bed is so comfortable. Harry closes his eyes, just to rest them for a moment, and jerks to attention when he feels a hand and then a mouth on his dick. The fact that it takes him a second for him to even remember whose mouth it is, sobers him a bit. At least, he’s fully awake for the time being. 

Louis’ mouth is the most amazing thing that Harry’s ever felt. Perfect, wet, warm… He wants to live the rest of his life with Louis’ mouth attached to his cock, he could just crawl inside and live there… 

His cock is cold.

“Harry,” Louis says and taps Harry’s hip before sitting up. “I think you should go to bed. You’re really drunk, babe.”

“You’re drunk!” Harry shouts the first thing that comes to mind, and it’s true, but Louis also has an erection. 

“Yeah, I am,” Louis says, as if he hadn’t noticed until that moment. 

Louis is _naked._ There’s just enough light coming from the bathroom door for Harry to see him. The dips and curves and lines of Louis’ body cast shadows on his skin, drawing attention to his jawline, his eyelashes, his collarbones, his… Harry lets his gaze linger, slowly roaming over every part of Louis, while he strokes himself. 

He loses track of time somewhere around Louis’ thighs, and when his eyes travel upward, he sees that Louis’ dick seems to be losing interest… Adrenaline surges through Harry’s bloodstream and for the first time in hours, he feels sober. This cannot be happening. He can’t let this happen. 

“I think—” Louis starts.

“Work, goddamn it!” Harry wraps his left hand tight around the base of his cock and jerks it hard and fast with his right, but it’s wasted effort. No matter what, his penis remains flaccid.

Harry wonders if there was ever really a chance that tonight would go his way or if any kind of positive encounter with Louis is simply unattainable. Just working up the nerve to talk to Louis took him all night and so many drinks that he lost count. Even if he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning, he’ll never live this down because there’s no possibility that Louis will forget. Any chance for more between them is disappearing faster with every second that this night drags on.

Distantly, he hears Louis’ voice, but doesn’t process the words. Not that he needs to understand them when the tone is so clearly meant to comfort. His moment of sobriety passes and Harry relaxes his hands and rolls over onto his side to face away from Louis. Shame floods his body and his skin feels like it’s on fire, as he blinks back tears and turns and presses his face into the pillow. He can feel Louis’ eyes on the bare skin of his back, but he’s too mortified to move, even to pull the blanket over himself. Harry’s voice is tight, but he counts himself lucky it doesn’t crack when he says, “You should go.” 

While Louis dresses and apologizes and says a million versions of _these things happen,_ Harry drifts. He’s exhausted and sinking into all the liquor he drank that night when Louis forces him to sit up, shoves a bottle of water into Harry’s hand, and says, “Drink.” 

Harry drinks.

“I’m worried you’ll puke or something.” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them, hoping that’ll make them work better. Louis is standing there fully clothed, arms crossed, feet set wide apart the way he’s always done when he’s being _serious Louis._

“I’ll puke later.”

“No, I mean, like that you’ll choke or…”

“Fuck you, Louis. Jesus. I can’t get it up. I’m not going to fucking die. Can you just leave?” 

Louis backs up and finally looks away, nodding once. “Fine.” 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles, and watches through half-closed eyes as Louis checks his pockets, and walks to the door. He seems to hesitate before reaching for the handle and the words leave Harry before he knows what he’s saying, “Don’t tell anyone, Lou.” 

Louis turns around and even in the dark, through his drunken haze, Harry thinks Louis meets his eyes. The last thing Harry hears before passing out is Louis’ quiet, clear voice. “Would never, Styles.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Rebloggable post is [here](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/179252970225/a-well-made-mistake-part-6-of-dont-want)  
> if you want to share :D


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